Rivain's Pirate Queen
by kittyasha
Summary: Series of One-shots from Isabela's raunchy POV. These will be quest-based or made up from from the years in between. Includes first meeting, end talk, betrayals from Act 2, companion relations, bits of her past, opinions, and absent thoughts. R&R Please!
1. Tits n' Ass

_Down, down, down and…ah…_

The wonderful delicacies of the Hanged Man never lead me astray. I give my head a rough shake; it burns like Hell on the way down. I trail the rim of my much-abused mug with my dark-skinned fingers as I gaze around the tavern. From what I've gathered, its dank, ratty, musky, and stank of sweat and desperation. Not a bad place to crash a ship in. Kirkwall reminds me of a bottled-up Ferelden; simple, boring fashion; declining politics; and watered-down criminals who couldn't tell their ass from their elbow*.

The tavern door opens with a bang. I glance up and see—lo' and behold—Lucky the Simpleton and his gang. I sigh and return to my drink, hopefully the idiot isn't sniffing for me.

For his own sake.

But, as fate would have it, his boys waddle on over and surround my stool, a weak attempt at intimidation. I take stock of the situation and decide that I'm already bored. His two lackeys are a foot or so behind my back, cocksure and amateur, weapons sheathed. Lucky himself is going for the casually dangerous look, awkwardly lounging on the bar beside me.

He stares at me with a glazed look in his eye, not an uncommon occurrence when dealing with sex-deprived men. Well, that's a lie. Open ogling happens with just about all men, and most women. I ignore him and take a swig of my ale. This goes on for a minute or two.

Stare, drink. Stare, drink. Yawn, yawn, yawn.

Eventually—_finally—_Lucky speaks, leaning closer to leer at my breasts.

"You owe us, Isabela," he growls. He's referring to the coin I promised him in return for information on the _Relic._ He failed to deliver, so I remind him of what I said two nights ago. I take another sip first.

"Well Lucky, I'll tell you what," I say slowly, to give him time to understand. "Since the information you gave me was worth nothing…"

Pause for effect.

"That's what I'll pay you." I grasp my mug to take another drink when he slams it back on the bar with one greasy hand. Big mistake number one.

"Me and my boys will get our money's worth, bitch," he snarls. Big mistake number two. Up until this moment I hadn't spared a glance at the sewer rat, but now he has my attention. I almost feel sorry for the poor sot. I roll my head to meet his watery eyes and coo.

"Oh you poor, sweet thing." I lean close to him, my lips inches from his. He hesitates, mistaking my glare for a smolder. Idiot. I grab his wrist that still covers my drink, yanking him closer. He stumbles and I grab his stringy hair, pounding his ugly face once, twice on the bar before releasing him. He falls back on his arse; not so lucky then.

One of his boys wraps his arms around my waist and arms, stupidly not bothering to reach for the blades strapped to his back. He lifts me from the floor while his buddy reaches for a bottle on a nearby table.

At the corner of my eye I see a woman, a dwarf, an elf, and a man. The woman is watching our little brawl with a smirk.

Lucky's goon raises his bottle over his head with a grimacing snarl, returning my attention to my predicament. I buck my head and with a _crack _of my captor's nose breaking, I'm free. I crouch swiftly and grunt number one smashes the bottle over the head of grunt number two. I rise from my crouch and punch grunt number one's face. Twice. A swift knee to the balls, and he's down.

Lucky, finally recovering from my first blow, goes for his broadsword. I slide one of my daggers from my boot and rest the tip snuggly under his chin. Lucky blanches, apprehension in his eyes. I allow myself to soak in the look on his face before speaking.

"Tell me, Lucky," I stare deep into his eyes. He doesn't mistake my glare this time. "Is this worth dying for?"

He backs off, his goons staggering after him. I follow his head with my blade until he scurries out of the tavern. I lean against the bar with a chuckle, admiring my work. I see the woman again, watching me with renewed interest. I smile and take another swig.

"I didn't think so."

I meet the woman's eye for just a moment before turning back to the bar. I wait, until I hear the distinct sounds of chainmail boots on the wooden floor. I grin into my mug; this is the chance I'm waiting for.

The woman and her entourage reach my stool and I start before she does.

"You're new around here aren't you?"

I turn to face her and continue without waiting for her obvious answer. "Keep your wits about you. Your nothing but tits n' ass for the men in this place and they won't hesitate to grab at both."

The woman smirks again but her overall expression is open and friendly. I get a closer look at her and her group. I recognize the dwarf, Varric I think his name is. The elf has a face full of tattoos and a stick growing out of her back. An elven mage then. The man is also a mage, with a cuddly-looking cloak of feathers. I wonder how many birds he had to kill for that. Mages are the most peculiar of creatures.

"Speaking from experience are we?" the woman says, bringing my attention back to her. She's a pretty thing, with an impressively large sword peeking up from behind her shoulder. Hmm. I chuckle appreciatively.

"After a few broken fingers here and there, they got the idea."

I curtsey, not exactly knowing why. "I'm Isabela." I hesitate. "Previously _Captain _Isabela. Sadly, without my ship the title rings a bit hollow."  
>"Marian Hawke," the woman offers with a slight incline of her head. A familiar greeting.<p>

"You're Ferelden, aren't you?" I inquire. She raises one sharp eyebrow and I clarify. "You have that look about you. I was in Denerim not too long ago."

I think back to the tasty Warden my old pal Zev introduced me too and examine this, _Hawke_ again. Yes, she could work.

"you might be just what I'm looking for to solve a little problem I have," I begin.

Hawke frowns comically. "Can't anyone fix their own lives around here?" she drawls. I smirk.

"Must be something in the water," I say with a shrug. Her eyes glimmer with amusement, and I'm suddenly sure we'll get along just fine. Time to tell my mini life story—without discriminating details of course.

"Someone from my past has been pestering me. I've arranged for a dual." I pause. Hawke says nothing, so I go on. "If I win, he leaves me alone. But I don't trust him to play fair. I need someone to watch my back."

She scrutinizes me curiously, and asks a few questions. Easy enough, until she asks about Lucky. But after a few innuendos and a subtle change of subject, she gets the message.

"I think I can manage watching your back," she decides. I grin and let my eyes enjoy her body. Very pretty indeed.

"I'll bet," I purr. A little flirting never hurt anybody. I swagger past her,—careful to sway my hips—relaying instructions. She turns to watch me leave and I smile again.

This'll be fun.

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AN: *a quote I stole from good ol' Dane Cook, BCE (Best Comedian Ever)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU FEEL I'M DOING ISABELA WRON! SHE IS A VERY DIFFICULT CHARACTER TO WRITE ABOUT!


	2. Nothing Ventured

**AN: **Pirate lingo at the bottom!

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"We've been hit, Cap'n!" Bruce cries.

_No shit._ The Siren's Call shudders and rocks feverously. I'm still gripping the bollard tightly, hands and wood slippery with rain. My crew rallies around me, trying their damnedest to escape the enemy ships that are now less than a league behind us. They aren't just any old boats attempting to sink us either. They're a Qunari Dreadnaught, an elite fleet controlled by a breed of ox-horns who waste their entire lives finding new ways to kill people. As for why they're after us…well…

I untie my sash, reassuring myself that the _Relic_ is still there. This dusty old book is the key to saving my life. If I lose it, my old boss will slit my throat with a grin on his face. These giant bastards won't get their hands on it.

I grab my telescope and jog over to the bow, weaving in and out of my panicked crew. Bruce follows me.

"We canna' evade them much longer Cap'n," he reports.

"Keep trying, Bruce. Unless you want to be the one to tell the Arishok that this is all a complete misunderstanding when they catch us," I retort a bit sharply. While Bruce sputters behind me, I lift the telescope to my eyes.

We have just passed the border into the Free Marches, leaving Antiva behind—along with our lead on the Arishok and his men/oxen. Our starboard side features a long line of rocky cliffs. I've never sailed this part of the Amaranthine Ocean; usually I go further south, towards Ferelden.

_Ah, balls._

Up ahead, a storm is brewing, festering slightly to port. Bruce catches this as well.

"Andraste's ass! I rather take my chances with the Qunari than try my luck with a _monsoon!"_ he cries. Ignoring him, I examine the rising waves in front of me. If we go forward, we face the heart of the storm and a long line of rock just waiting to sink us. I look back…to see that the Qunari has halved the distance between us. This is the very definition of choosing between a rock (ship-eating cliffs) and a hard place—the storm or the Qunari Dreadnaught. Take your pick.

Bruce whimpers at my side. "Are they so desperate for our heads that they'll hound us into _this?"_

I blink and narrow my eyes at him. "You think they will?" I ask quietly. Bruce runs a hand through his long black hair.

"They ain't slowin' down, ain't they?" he barks over the growing storm, flailing his arms at the Dreadnaught. I frown thoughtfully, an idea forming.

"How much experience do you think they have sailing through storms, Bruce?" I ask, refusing to take my eyes off the ambiguously large ships closing in.

"What makes you think I know a damn thing 'bout them rams?" he growls. I barely hear him; the idea has formed. But its risky.

Very risky.

Ah, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as I've always said.

I make my way to the midst of the chaos, leaping on a barrel full of mead. I steady myself by grasping the mainmast and put two fingers between my teeth to blow a shrill whistle. Most of my crew turns to face me. Their eyes are bright with the hope that I'll come through for them, as I have in the past.

"Men of the Siren's Call!" I shout, catching the attention of any stragglers. "Those Qunari vultures are dogging our heels and will soon sink our noble ship!"

The hope fades from my men's eyes. Good. Makes them desperate enough to go through with my plan. The wind picks up and I have to yell louder to be heard.

"We need to lose those ox-horns! And to do that, we need to sail into _that_!" I wave my arm at the approaching storm. My crew stares at me with expressions varying from doubt to horror.

"Are you out of your mind, woman!" Jacky shrieks.

"We'll get wrecked to bits!" wails Mika.

I lose my patience.

"The next option for the cowards is to grab something that floats and hope you don't drown when you go overboard!" I snap. There are a few grumbles but nobody goes for an empty barrel, so I count that as a consensus.

I smile at my crew, hoping it doesn't look more like a grimace.

"All right, men! Turn her to port, hoist the mainsails, grab something heavy and solid!"

My crew jumps to attention, obeying my orders. A pale-faced Bruce moves to take the helm. I grin for real, now that the decision has been made and put into action.

"Feeling a little sick, are we Bruce?" I crow cheerfully. He makes a vulgar suggestion with his hand and I laugh. I jump down from my barrel and race over to the bow, arms spread to embrace the storm before me. This is what it means to sail the open seas! The wind enfolds me like an old friend.

I reach the helm and push Bruce away; this requires the fine direction of a woman. The waves become rockier and higher. The Siren's Call lifts and rocks dangerously. The wind howls and rips through my body. My hair is flapping wildly and my bandana threatens to tear away. Adrenaline courses through my veins while fear and the Qunari Dreadnaught are forgotten. All I see and feel is my current adversary; the unforgiving storm. Lightning forks into the sea, swiftly followed by the _crack_ of deafening thunder. I throw back my head and laugh a challenge into the sky.

"Come and get me!"

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"Rivaini…hey, Rivaini!"

I jerk awake to the sound of Varric's gravelly voice. I slit open one bleary eye to see the damned dwarf grinning at me.

"Come on, Rivaini!" he says again. "Its past midday and we gotta meet Hawke and Aveline at the Barracks!"

I wince at his loud, happy voice, my head pounding to the beat of my pulse.

"Hawke is a shit-faced slave driver," I groan. Varric bellows, and I begin to feel like my head is about to explode.

"Aww, you don't mean that! Its just the hangover talking."

I sigh and close my eyes, trying to remember what went on last night. Then it comes to me.

"Did I win?" I ask. The dwarf chuckles ruefully.

"Are you kidding? You drank me into submission, Rivaini!"

I allow myself a moment of victory and tentatively sit up. My vision swims for a moment, but I wait patiently and the world rights itself.

Well, at least I'm in my own bed this time.

Varric says, "Times a waistin'! We're already late!"

I glare viciously at him. "I swear, you stubby little dwarf, if you ask me to hurry up one last time, I will make it so you'll lose the ability to have children."

He stares at me with mock horror. "You wouldn't dare! My seed is too valuable," he drawls.

My response is another glare and I concentrate on standing up. Glass bottles clink cheerfully as the bed is relieved of my weight and I stagger a couple of steps. Varric steadies me with a gloved hand.

"Come one, all you need is a good dose of fresh air," he assures me. We begin the slow journey out of the Hanged Man. My thoughts return to my dream—or more accurately, my memory. An unfamiliar feeling of shame pricks at my skin.

"Fearsome Captain of the seas, to a stranded drunk requiring the aid of a merchant dwarf," I mutter. Varric pats my back in a way that can only be described as fatherly and looks up at me.

"Have your pity-party later. Hell, unload your sorrows on me if you want. But today, we need you sharp blades and cunning wit, Rivaini," he says.

I smile down at him, rethinking my position here. I've been in worse spots with worse company.

This'll do. For now.

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**Pirate ship terms:**

Bollard: short post on a wharf or ship to which ropes are tied

Bow: front of a ship

Starboard: when facing forward, the right side of a ship

Port: when facing forward, the left side of the ship

Mainmast: sailing ship's principal mast

Mainsail: principal sail on a ship's mainmast

Helm: ship's steering wheel

**A/N:** this is definitely a slightly more serious Isabela!


	3. Lost Kitten

**A/N:** Over the course of this fic, I will change the gender and personality of Hawke regularly, simply to incorporate Isabela's opinion on each "type" of Hawke. This is also one of my weaker writings, but bear with me I'll make sure to do better in the future!

/

I grin wickedly as I sweep my newly won silvers into my coin purse.

"It seems, Havoc," I say to the devastated face of my newest victim, "That you have a ways to go before you reach the level of the Queen of the Seas. Until then you deserve a good whipping for your failure…by someone else."

I haven't sunk that low. Yet.

As the chagrined man performs his walk of shame out of the bar, a familiar brooding face walks in. I wave my hand in an embarrassing spasm to both catch his attention and rile him up. He makes his way over, curling his lip as he steps disdainfully over a comatose drunk. He gives a pair of jiggling singing women a wide berth and collapses on the stool across from me.

"Always an adventure here, eh*, lil' wolf?" I say, saluting him with my half-filled bottle. Fenris gives me a look just shy of a snarl before filching my ale and taking a swig. He glares at it, an insulting show of distaste.

"This tastes like urine mixed with dwarf mead," he spits.

Always ray of sunshine, our Fenris.

"Sorry the Hanged Man couldn't live up to your _fine_ Tevinter standards," I drawl cheerfully. He doesn't respond, just gives the poor bottle a broody stare.

I've only known Fenris for two months, since Hawke picked him up from a raid on a mansion or something. I wasn't there when it happened, and the elf is difficult to befriend, but I find that I want to earn his trust…sort of. He isn't bad on the eyes either. But at the moment, I'm bored and don't feel like entertaining him.

A familiar voice catches my attention, and I look to the bar. Anders is ordering a pint of ale and he hasn't noticed us yet. I smile an idea.

"Oi, Anders!" I noisily scrape my chair back from the table. The mage looks up at the sound of his name and our eyes meet. I give him an invitingly demure wave and he begins to briskly walk in my direction, ale in hand. Then he sees who my tablemate is, and he doesn't look so eager. I watch as he gravitates between turning back and doing the polite thing by sitting with us. His better nature wins out and he reluctantly pulls up a chair. Good old Fenris scowls his disapproval. Both men are alternating between exchanging glares with each other or desperately looking to me to lead the conversation. Well, Anders is, Fenris just looks irritable, but he always looks like that so I take it as a good sign. Anyway, I'm always happy to help.

"So good of you to join us, Anders!" I cheer jovially, raising my (fenris'?) bottle to him. He nods stiffly in my direction. I smile an encouragement.

"Fenris and I were just talking about you," I say, ignoring the elf's confused and suspicious look. "He told me that you must be inclined to wear women's clothing, due to your…dressy outfits."

Anders bristles and shoots dagger eyes at Fenris, who is staring with puzzled eyes. He doesn't defend himself; he's to proud. I was counting on that. I tap my chin thoughtfully.

"Granted, he said this in response to what you told me earlier, Anders," I continue slyly. Now it's the mage's turn to give me _the look._ Both men haven't said anything yet.

"Oh, you know, when you wondered if his very large sword was compensating for the size of his—" I gesture towards Fenris' lower half "…package?"

Fenris jumps from his chair, eyes lit up with fury. Anders reaches for his staff and rises to meet him. Both of them seem to have forgotten the hows and whys of this new argument. Simple men; always ignoring logic if their masculinity is challenged. This is too easy, but at least I'm not bored anymore. I lean back in my chair to watch the show.

Heavy steps trot toward me and I tense, hand poised for my daggers.

"Rivaini, I need to speak with you," Varric mutters conspiratorially in my ear. I sigh, admiring my handiwork regretfully. They have passed the hissing and spitting stage and are about to pounce. But I follow the dwarf to his room, two doors down from mine. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he's either worried or angry. I decide to go with the latter.

"Listen, this is just a chance for those idiots to settle their little pissing contest, I'm doing this with the best of intentions," I explain to his back.

"This isn't about your games Rivaini," he says impatiently, finally turning to meet my gaze. His brow is furrowed and he fidgets restlessly.

Alright, worried then.

"What is it Varric? Writer's block? chest hair falling out? Have a fight with Bianca—?"

"Do I look like my thick curls are thinning?" he asks skeptically. I examine the luscious thatch of hair under his vest and reconsider.

"It's Bianca, then? What did you do to her, Varric Tethras!"

He just looks at me. I shrug and raise an eyebrow. Varric sighs and says, "Merrill's missing."

I blink; not what I was expecting. He didn't even use the word, "Daisy."

"Are you sure?" now its my turn to be skeptical.

Varric looks helpless. "We were supposed to meet in the Lowtown market a few hours ago, but she never showed.

I'm in quest mode now. "Maybe she's in the Viscount's gardens again, or she forgot about your date and is frolicking around her hut at this very moment."

What is Varric doing meeting the little kitten in Lowtown? About four steamy scenarios develop in my head, but I push them away. Down to business.

Varric shakes his head. "I've looked everywhere. Hell, I've even been to Hawke's," he grimaces. "That was an experience."

Varric and I both share a dislike for Gamlen.

"And where _is_ Hawke in all this?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"He's out there looking, of course. You know how he is."

I frown "And you're telling me this because…?"

Varric frowns back. "I thought you were fond of Daisy?"

I throw up my hands and say, "Of course, but she's not a child, she can look after herself. Hello? Blood magic?"

Varric stares at me with a pleading expression. We have a staring contest for a minute.

Damned dwarf.

Damned elf.

She'll be fine.

I'm not her mommy.

Damn it all!

I concede defeat. "Where should we look next?"

/

We found Merrill in Darktown.

She was wondering around aimlessly when I spotted her pointy ears among the desperate and depraved. I grabbed Varric and Hawke and steered them in her direction.

Now, she looks at our search party with a bewildered expression.

"Strange, seeing you all here, I thought I'd be lost for days," she chirps.

"What are you doing, Daisy, we've been looking all over for you!" Varric demands with exasperation. Merrill blinks.

"I was on my way to the market, but then I ended up here. I don't know why." She turns her big elven eyes on us, one by one.

Hawke sighs and rolls his shoulders wearily. "Well, crisis averted, I'm going home to finish my now cold stew."

He pats Merrill's head affectionately and melts into the crowd. Varric and I share a bemused glace.

"Alright, Daisy, let's get you home," he says.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Varric," she says sweetly, making me want to shake her with either relief or fury. She cluelessly turns to me and begins to tweet in my ear.

"I thought you would be busy at the Hanged Man this time of night, Isabela. Do you think you could teach me how to play that money-card game you always play…"

/

Fortunately we make it back to the Alienage without the ground opening up and swallowing us—and without losing Merrill, again.

"Here we are, home sweet home, Daisy," Varric says wearily.

"Thank you so, so much, you two!" Merrill says again. I finally lose it, I'm honestly surprised I've lasted this long. I clasp her shoulders tightly, leaning so close that her bright eyes merge into one.

"Don't ever, for all our sakes, go missing again," I say slowly, trying to make her understand. She nods jerkily, as if her neck is broken, and I step back. Varric is smirking at me and I grin none too nicely back. His grin widens and his teeth glimmer in the glow of the moon.

With a cheery wave, Merrill skips into her rat-infested home. The dwarf and I settle for the walk back to our tavern.

I wonder if Anders and Fenris are still going at it. Probably.

/

Hawke, Merrill, Varric, Aveline, and I are on our way to brutally murder a pack of outlawed Qunari here in the Wounded Coast. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining on the open sea, Varric and Hawke are talking shop, and Aveline and I are trading a barrage of scathing insults.

Just another day with Isabela and company. Aveline is the first to give up our verbal brawl and I content myself with watching the churning waves.

"Thank you very much for the help earlier, Varric," Merrill's lilting voice reaches my ears and I feel a spark of annoyance. _I helped you too! _I eavesdrop wile gazing at the water.

Varric says, "You made it back to the Alienage in one piece, then?"

Is he being sarcastic?

"I don't know how I wound up in Darktown. There are just too many corners in Kirkwall."

"Still got that ball of twine?"

What?

"I left it at my house," a pause. I can just imagine Varric's face. "Don't worry! I won't get lost while we're following Hawke," she says quickly. Varric sighs

"Bring it next time, just in case."

I chuckle to myself. At least I have a comrade in the Look Out For Merrill (LOFM) squad.

It's a very nice day, indeed.

/

**A/N:** The origins of Merrill's ball of twine, here you are!

*what can I say, I'm Canadian, eh?

As always R&R!


	4. Vulnerability and Doubts

**A/N: I hate Microsoft Word at the moment. The entire time I was writing this it insisted on telling me my writing was wrong and I became increasingly frustrated. Therefore, this will probably have many mistakes and will definitely not be as good as the others. I'm sorry and I'll try to do better next time around.**

"And then I said, 'look in your coin purse'!"

Hawke threw back her head and howled with snorting laughter. I join in, though I know the joke isn't that funny. Must be the drink talking.

We were celebrating our success in finally gathering enough coin for the Deep Roads expedition. Hawke is going under tomorrow.

I'm supporting most of the mage's body weight to take her home. I was only halfway drunk. Poor Hawke drank twice the weight of a bronto and can barely keep one foot in front of the other.

Gamlen's hovel is less than a few blocks away, and I'm all but dragging my drunken friend through the streets. It's all in good fun though, gives me the chance to thoroughly explore all her…assets.

"You're being very helpful tonight, Izzzzy," Hawke slurs.

I chuckle. "If you keep calling me that I won't be so selfless," I tease. Hawke laughs again.

"Izzy, Izzy, Isabela!" she chants, reveling in her new game. I sigh good-naturedly. At this rate, everyone will have a pet name for me. Varric's 'Rivaini'; Aveline's 'whore' (though I don't think that's very creative); and now Hawke's 'Izzy.'

Alas, the price of being loved.

Due to Hawke's incoherent ramblings, I'm left with look out duty. And 'supporting the drunken mage' duty. And 'knowing the way to Gamlen's house' duty. Lovely.

As I try to get more specific directions out of Hawke, something flashes at the corner of my eye. I tense and turn to look before realizing I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I whip back around—or staggered clumsily around, still keeping a tight hold on Hawke—in time to dodge a hulking man with a swinging axe. He still clips my shoulder and I stumble, my hold on Hawke loosening. I reach awkwardly for my daggers, bracing myself for another blow. I look up to see that the man has backed off…to stand alongside his circle of buddies surrounding us.

The man who first attacked us—most likely the leader—leers at his prey appreciatively.

"Look at this boys," he barks. "We got ourselves some pretty wenches with some shiny goods."

His buddies snicker. Hawke pushes away from me and stands tall, trying to appear intimidating. I think she would have sold it if not for the tipsy swaying of her body.

"You don't wanna' do this," she says slowly, her second attempt at intimidation. While juiced, it lost its bluster. "I'm Hawke, a very, um, powerful mercenary mage!"

I resist the urge to cover my face. The gang caws around us.

"I don't care if you're the Queen of Antiva," the leader guffaws.

I've had enough. "Do you care about this?" I ask, artfully launching my dagger. It digs in the leader's shoulder to the hilt. He howls and his men fall upon us.

With a grin, I pull out a couple more daggers and begin the intricate dance of dueling. My mind shuts down and I rely completely on my instincts. My blades are an extension of my arm, weaving and slashing viciously through my opponents. I can almost feel the skin tearing under the razor-sharp edges.

I'm on my fourth victim, when I feel a searing heat on the right side of my body. The man in front of me is set ablaze and runs, squealing. He makes it a few yards before he collapses, twitching and whimpering.

The remaining gang members take one look at the burning corpse and take off. The leader stumbles and falls over one of my messier kills and yelps. He scrambles up and races after the others, arms pin wheeling.

I'm laughing when my arm starts to tingle, then burn. I look down.

"Shit!" My arm is on fire. I frantically pat the flames out and I hiss between my teeth when I see the damage. Anders better leave me without a scar on this one.

"Maker's breath, Hawke! Were you trying to make a meal out of—?"

I look over to see her staring at her open palms in horror. She raises her head to face me and my lips part in surprise to see the vulnerable look there. This is new.

"They're right, Isabela," she says hoarsely, sounding completely sober.

I lift one eyebrow. "Who's right?"

"Fenris, the templars, Carver…" her voice trails off at the mention of her brother. "I'm not only a mage, but I'm a weak-minded one too."

I stare at her, waiting for the punch line. "Did you hit your pretty head in that fight?" I snap. "_You're_ the one who saved my ass from Hayder! _You're_ the one who served that slug Meeran for a year! And _you're_ the one venturing into the Deep Roads to get some coin for your family! As for Carver and Fenris? They're both just bitter men who always find the flaws in people without thinking of the good!"

I stop to take a breath. Hawke stares wide-eyed at me for a couple minutes before replying meekly, "Carver helped too."

I throw up my hands; that's her brilliant defensive?

"Come on, let's get you home," I say irritably. Hawke obediently walks at my side.

Don't get me wrong. Hawke may irritate me at times with her constant interference on other's lives, or her tendency for mercy on the roaches skulking in this city. But I admired her for her courage and wit, as much as I consider her a friend.

I'm just not very good at comforting people. To me, it seems desperate to just unload my feelings and shortcomings on people. They rarely have the right thing to say or suggest, and half the time, they don't give a damn. So I usually give my friends the hard truth.

We reach Gamlen's rickety old door.

"Alrighty, home, safe and sound," I chirp. Hawke reaches for the handle and I can't resist spanking her ass before making my way down the steps.

"Hey, Izzy."

I turn to see Hawke, hand still on the handle, body half-facing me. She scrutinizes me for a moment, and then breaks into a grin.

"Thanks for whipping my ass into shape. Physically and figuratively."

I wink slyly at her. "You can repay me with your body when you make it back to the surface."

She chuckles and opens the door while I continue down the steps. I'm almost out of sight when she calls to me again.

"I might just take you up on your offer!"

**A/N: going on vacation so I won't update again for a couple of weeks. Sorry!**


	5. The Rules of Attraction

**A/N:** I'm back! Sorry this took so long I've been held up. I also wanted to write a good one-shot this time to make up for the last one. For those of you who haven't been paying close attentions, we are now in Act Two (where all the good things happen)! Enjoy this little piece of Isabela mischief!

…

"Shit!" I mutter, attempting valiantly to keep the blood from my nicked finger from filling the lettering I have just carved into the stairwell of the Hawke estate.

"Shit!" I curse again when drops of the blood I can't reach in time pool in the last of the grooves. I glare mutinously at my dagger before pocketing it. I rest my hands on my hips to admire my work of art.

_If this won't cheer up gloomy young Hawke, nothing will._ I chuckle to myself, eyes wondering up the stairs and fixing on Hawke's chamber door. I debate whether or not if I have enough time to read through Hawke's latest editions to her journal before—

"Enchantment!"

I jerk around so fast my neck whiplashes. "Andraste's luscious tits!" I rasp. Two pairs of eyes watch me dolefully as my heart hammers in my chest. Only three people in my entire existence have ever had the luck—or the balls—to catch me by surprise.

"Enchantment!" the simple boy exclaims gleefully, followed by a booming bark. The dwarf and mabari are almost exactly the same height with almost exactly the same expressions. There is no sign of Hawke, her mother, or the other bearded dwarf who dotes on, well, the other one.

"Erm…hello?" I suggest, contemplating my escape routes. They both have me boxed in with no help in sight.

"Hello," the boy smiles.

Creepy.

The mutt drops down on its forepaws, wiggling its ass in the air, and I fear that it could be some sort of mating ritual. I raise my hands, facing them open-palmed at my ambushers.

_As if that can save me,_ I chastise myself scornfully. I begin to wonder if waving my arms and shouting real loud would scare them off, like with bears and wolves. Might work on the dog.

"Isabela?"

I look up and sigh with relief at the sight of Hawke, who is staring at me as if _I were_ the savage beast (or a creepy dwarf). The older, bearded one is at her side, fumbling sacks of food and whatnot. The mutt barks at the sight of his master and prances over to greet her. I glare at it, letting it know that I'm not fooled by its innocent act. The boy looks over at his father, easily diverted interest peeked at the sight of the food. I make my getaway, inching toward the letter desk with my back pressed against the wall.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" Hawke demands, watching my escape with confusion. I stand straight and brush my hands over my thighs, trying to preserve the remnants of my dignity.

"That dog and his minion…" I huff, pointing at the slobbering creature, which is giving me that _look_ again. "They snuck up on me!"

Hawke doesn't seem to understand the emotional trauma I just went through. She raises an eyebrow and watches me wearily. In fact, the woman looks downright exhausted. Her usually bright eyes have dimmed, the bags under them dark and prominent. She is pale, her lips bitten, and hair disheveled. Not exactly the look of a fearsome warrior.

I frown, knowing what, or more accurately, _who _caused this.

"Still heartsick over Fenris," I say. It isn't a question, but Hawke nods somberly anyway. I grit my teeth to stop myself from bitching about the situation; she has heard it a few times already.

I'm not one to feel sympathetic or—Maker save me—supportive of those with a broken heart, being on both sides of that issue myself. But from what I've heard, the lil' wolf dined and dashed. What irritates me is that he quit the field out of angst-induced cowardice, the worst way to go in my opinion.

Hawke turns and starts up the stairs, heading to her room. I follow, silently cursing Fenris for crippling our not-so-noble leader. I allow myself a glance at her curvy backside, but my heart is (surprisingly) not in it, considering that she is moving with the stride of a woman three times her age.

I grind to a halt, an idea hitting me like a punch to the jaw. I swear that sometimes my genius and capacity for cruelty surprises even myself. I'm mentally molding my idea into being while Hawke falls into her bed with a much-suffering sigh. I jump in with her, landing on my shins with my legs folded beneath me.

"He really hurt you that night, didn't he?" I say conspiratorially. She looks up at me with a blank gaze. Ignoring that, I go on.

"We should hurt him back, make him go crazy, make it look like you're completely over him."

Hawke glares at me suspiciously. "Isabela, I'm not going to sleep with you."

Damn. "Well, that's a roadblock, but I'm sure we can overcome it."

She scrutinizes me, interest lighting her too-dull eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

…

(Three Days Later)

"Fenris! Oi, FENRIS!" I shout, slamming my fist on the mansion's run-down door. I wait a minute, then two.

"FEEEENNNRRIIIIIS!"

Crashing and cursing follows my enthusiastic summons, and moments later, the snarling elf stands before me. He attempts to scare me away with a very unattractive barring of teeth and I chuckle teasingly.

"Maker, Wolfie, I haven't seen your beautiful face in weeks!" I cheer. Fenris opens his mouth to scare me off verbally but I don't give him the chance.

"Now that you're up and armored, we gotta meet Hawke and Aveline up at Sundermount," I chirp, reaching for his arm and dragging him out of the dim foyer.

"Alright," he growls, tearing his arm away, but continuing to walk at my side.

I smirk. The plan is in motion. "Good boy."

We find Hawke and Aveline just outside the city. They are both laughing companionably together, and I feel a rush of pride for our usually stoic Guardcaptain. It took a lot of convincing to get her to play along, but she's about as immune to Hawke's despair as I am, so she reluctantly agreed.

"So poor Anders was trying his very best to ignore my naked body so he could heal my stomach and thighs…"

Beside me, Fenris tenses at the sound of Hawke's rehearsed story. It's impossible to hide my smile, and Fenris glowers when he sees it. Ignoring him, I skip ahead and cry a greeting. Hawke gives me a warm smile and opens her arms, taking me in a tight hug.

Now on to Phase Two.

"I missed you so much, sweet thing," I purr, nuzzling the hollow of her neck. She giggles girlishly and I have to hold my breath to reign in the laughter bubbling up my throat.

"I just talked to you a couple of hours ago, silly," she chirps. Still embraced, I whisper instructions in her ear. She runs her hand down my back, over my ass, and back up again.

"That's two hours too long! Besides…" I lick my lips slowly and deliberately. "I don't remember doing much talking." I trace her lower lip with my finger before stepping away to face our audience.

I have to hand it to Aveline, she is much better at this than I gave her credit for. She only looks moderately sick. Fenris on the other hand…well, I wouldn't be surprised to see steam rising from his pointy ears. When she sees him, Hawke's smile falters, but she forces a grin big enough to split her pretty face in half.

"Well, now that we're all here, best to be on our way," she says.

I can't resist. "You sure do like being…in charge, sweet thing."

Hawke winks coyly at me and Fenris clenches his fists with enough force to crush through bone.

Time for Phase Three.

I don't know if Fenris can take much more of this. Aveline dutifully strikes up a conversation with him while Hawke and I take up positions further up at each other's side. We make a show of laughing and flirting, to catch at least part of Fenris' attention.

"Just like we practiced," I whisper. Hawke nods once and slows her trot to a swagger, seductively swaying her hips and liquidizing her thighs. To make it all work, I change my strut to a boring march with a blandness that rivals that of, well, Aveline.

Poor Fenris trails off of whatever babble he was directing at Aveline and his big eyes focus hungrily on Hawke and her backside. Aveline and I exchange a glance, knowing that the elf is lost.

Mission accomplished.

…

"Enchantment!"

"Oh, enchant your ass, dwarf," I snap, forging past the boy into Hawke's mansion. I've come to accept eternal thanks and gratitude from Hawke. There haven't been results yet, but it's only a matter of time before the lustful elf breaks. Aveline is there, signing papers at the letter desk. She ignores me, now that our brief partnership is over. I make my way to the staircase and pause. A smothered noise made of moans and gasps drift down the steps. I smile.

The wolf has howled.

"I don't know why you did it," Aveline says, looking up from her writing. "I thought you wanted to have a go at Hawke, if I were to allow it, which I never will."

I smirk, "Even I know a lost cause when I see one, those two are smitten."

She raises her eyebrows skeptically and I laugh. "And if their little affair falls apart, I'll be there to catch her, among other things."

The Guardcaptain rolls her eyes before returning to her paperwork. I lift my gaze to Hawke's door, absentmindedly tracing my stairwell carving with dark fingertips. I sigh, feeling wistful and regretful, pining like a little girl over a woman who chose an elf.

…

As always, give me lots of reviews!


	6. Quiet Respite

"Put her up here!"

"She's losing a lot of blood!"

"Damn it, Anders, do something!"

I groan and groggily try to lift my head, but it feels like I'm trapped under the bulk of an ogre. I feel a shift in the air by my head and then Hawke is there, whispering reassurances. I put what little energy I have into lifting my very heavy eyelids. It's a pointless venture on the account that I can't see a damn thing except a blurry stone ceiling and the occasional flash of Anders' tense face. I don't bother trying to move my head again. Instead, I focus on my communication skills.

"Wh…what happened?" My voice sounds weak and raspy, and I wonder if that is a bad thing, if something's wrong with me. Much to my deep annoyance, my friends ignore me.

"She's looking pretty out of it, Anders," Varric says a little frantically. Its odd, the dwarf only calls us by name when he's serious. That's concerning.

The mage grunts in response and my body starts to feel all tingly. I feel like I'm floating on a fluffy white cloud, drifting through a pretty blue sky. Hmm…maybe I'll just rest for a bit and—

"Don't you dare, Isabela! You stay with me!"

My fuzzy mind shies away from Hawke's angry, loud voice. Yet I can't rest, there's a damn itch under my skin, like caterpillars are crawling under it.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, can't you go any faster?"

I almost smile against my closed eyes at Hawke's creative word choice, though I have no damn idea what he's bitching about.

Anders flounders for an answer. "I'm doing the best I can—"

"Your best isn't enough!" Hawke cuts in. "Swallow some lerium, open a vein, bring Justice to the party, I don't care! Just _save her_!"

I almost feel sorry for Anders. I've never heard Hawke speak that way to anyone in that tone of voice. It's scary in its intensity.

Then my body isn't feeling so warm and cuddly anymore. Pain explodes through me, like I've just plunged into a tub of ice-cold water. I gasp and my eyes shoot open.

Anders is sweating buckets, face red and eyes bright, illuminated by a blue light. He doesn't seem to care about my shuddering whenever a fresh wave of pain washes over me. My whole body feels as if sharp pins—not caterpillars—are pushing their way out from under my skin. The only part of me that's not in pain is my left hand. I turn my head, grimacing at the nausea it causes.

Hawke is still at my side, sitting in a stool. My hand is enfolded in both of his. They are worn and callused from many years of swordplay, but they sooth the pain nonetheless. His head is bent, forehead resting upon our clasped hands and his eyes are closed.

It looks almost as if he's praying.

Varric's cry of joy intercedes on the moment, whatever it is. "It's working! Rivaini is patching herself up!" He grabs Hawke's shoulder in a comradely grip. Looking at me he says, "You'll be kicking and boozing again in no time!"

The pain lessens until I'm only a little sore. Hawke slowly lifts his head and opens his eyes. I'm surprised by the amount of relief I see there. He smiles and shakes his head.

"What am I going to do with you, Isabela?" he asks ruefully. Before I can answer, a pitcher of water is shoved in my face and I drink greedily, suddenly realizing how thirsty I am.

I feel more rejuvenated with each swallow, and it isn't long before I'm frowning at the empty pitcher. "You couldn't have spiked this with some ale or something equally enjoyable?' I complain, voice steadier than before.

"Sorry, we spent it all on keeping your wounds clean and drowning our sorrows," Hawke replies. Now that I have recovered a bit, I try to piece together why I needed emergency healing.

" What happened?" I ask again, giving the three men a curious look. The sun is setting behind Varric in the open window and I stare at it in shock. It can't be that late! We must have been at it for hours, but it felt like minutes! I try sitting up, Hawke supporting me while Varric explains.

"Those cursed raiders gave you a few knives through the ribs, puncturing your lungs and spleen. They also nicked a vein on your neck. Serious stuff, Rivaini."

I instinctively reach up to touch my neck. I feel fresh blood, and under it, a short raised line of skin. I glance down and groan. My entire outfit is caked in blood.

"We're lucky the ambush was so close to the clinic or we'd have been screwed," Varric comments. I tear my gaze away from my ruined clothes and look at Anders. He has collapsed on a second stool opposite from the still-silent Hawke.

"Am I done almost dying, now?" I ask lightly, though from the look on his face I know I was awfully close today.

"You're done almost dying," he confirms, nodding wearily.

"Come on, Blondie" Varric says, nudging the mage with a bloody, gloved hand. "You look like you could use some healing yourself."

Wordlessly, Anders slides off his stool and follows the dwarf into his personal chambers. The second Anders' cloak vanishes around the corner, I'm swept (gently) off the table and into Hawke's lap in an awkward straddle. I turn and he cups my face with both hands and I shiver, not from pain this time, but with desire.

"Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again," he growls. I open my mouth to quip a witty reply when his lips bury into mine. I smile my surprise and happily oblige him. His kiss is long and desperate, and a niggling voice at the back of my head wonders if this is a good idea. I push it back, adopting Zevran's policy of taking pleasure when it comes.

Eventually, we come up for air, grinning stupidly at each other.

"Not bad, sweet thing," I admit, twirling a lock of his hair in my fingers. I'm still straddling him.

"Likewise, though there is room for improvement," he teases with a cocky smile. I punch him and the stool tips over, toppling us to the ground. I land on top of Hawke, and before I can improve the situation, he gently sits me up. Though I wouldn't mind going further, the signal was clear; he isn't ready for more yet. We lean against the table legs, chuckling at our clumsiness.

"Yes, Isabela, this is exactly where I want to be, on the very unsanitary floor of Darktown," he quips.

"It's all part of my charm," I retort with a wink. He shakes his head and we sit in comfortable silence for a while. I begin to doze off, the events of the day catching up to me. My eyes are shut when I feel a tickling on my arm. Some sort of object is gliding up and down my bicep.

"_Caw, caw, caw,"_ Hawke whispers, sounding suspiciously like a seagull. I open my eyes and look down to see my model ship, given to me by Hawke himself. It must have fallen in the fight. He's steering it around my arm, dipping it as if the ship is on invisible waves. Hawke makes _whooshing_ noises between wispy laughs, and I smile. I rest my head on the table leg behind me, enjoying my possibly-more-than-friend's childish laughter in a rarely found quiet moment from the dredges of Kirkwall.

**A/N: **School started today (sadly) and I got a new job so updates will be slow. I know this is a little shorter but it's a good combo of seriousness and sweetness.


	7. What of Love

**AN:** Yes, I am finally writing after a virtual three month hiatus. Chances are it won't take as long to write another one, now that the ball's rolling again, but it will still take a while. And yes I know, I did a 'romantic' shot last time, but this seemed too good to ignore.

_Warning_: ANGST

…

I steady Merill before the Lowtown crowd massacres her.

"Honestly, kitten, you can magic the shit out of ravenous spiders but you can't navigate through a simple market," I chastise.

The elf blinks owlishly. "But what if they know I'm stealing, Isabela?" She shivers from head to toe. I glance hastily around, expecting one of Aveline's lackeys to come down upon our heads.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's not stealing if you actually need it," I remind her with endless patience.

"But I don't need the money too much; Hawke always pretends to forget his coin purse after he visits."

I roll my eyes. Damn Hawke and his selflessness. Try to pass on some less than civil legacies and _Merill_, of all people, rejects me.

"What if Hawke isn't around someday, Kitten?" I push, sparing another quick glance around. "You can't depend on his sorry ass for—"

I freeze, the words on my lips forgotten.

_Can it be?_

Through the marketplace crowd, a painfully familiar face melts from my sight.

"Isabela?" Merill's voice is distant to my ringing ears. For all intents and purposes, I'm a million miles away.

My legs move forward, betraying me. My eyes are fixed on the spot where he has sprung from my unlocked memories. I push through irritable shoppers to find the exact place. He seems to have disappeared, and a younger part of me begins to panic. It is simply too cruel.

Then I see him. His back is to me and he is headed toward Hightown. I wade through a sea of people, elbowing and pushing if necessary. They complain and push back, but I am unfazed. My focus is fixed on the man in front of me.

I stumble like a baby duck from the crowd. He hasn't noticed me yet, and for the first time in my life I am afraid to speak. Disgusted, I steel my body and soul before jogging up behind him. He doesn't even sense my approach. He has gone soft over the years. I raise my hand, but again I hesitate. Chances are he will either spit on my face or run away screaming. Worse, he could give me that same look I received all those years ago. The look he gave when I rejected his proposal of marriage and stole away forever.

I am almost paralyzed with guilt, but I know that if I don't take this chance now, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

I grab his shoulder and whip him around, my mouth open to say, well, something. He faces me with surprised eyes.

And it isn't him.

"What you want?" the stranger demands. I stare at him blankly. I want to feel relief. I want to feel pain. But I feel terrifyingly empty. I can't even think of a retort for this Bastard-Who-Isn't-Him.

"Nothing," I say tonelessly. I drop my hand and he scowls at me before going on his way. I watch without seeing a thing. I feel lost. I don't know what to do now that some jackass wondering the Lowtown market has shaken my world. I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes, feeling cold at least. I know I must look like a dreaming madwoman, but I can't summon enough to care. Its as if someone has carved out my insides, leaving me an empty shell.

I don't like it.

"Isabela? Are your ears clogged with caterpillars?"

I open my eyes to see Merill's just inches from my own. She looks worried and surprised, but since she always tends to look like that I'm not too concerned.

I begin to feel again, bit by bit. But the wounds are still fresh, and the pain is getting uncomfortable. More importantly, this 'pain' is very un-Isabela-like. I need an escape, and I know just the person willing to provide it.

"Listen, Kitten," I say, draining all of my strength to remain cool and collected. "Let's take a rain check on this one."

She blinks. "Alright, would you like to try again tomorrow? Oh, and I 'm also available the next night and the next night, but not the night after that."

But I am already gone, fleeing like a Genlock without its axe.

…

The sun has set by the time I stagger up the mansion's front step. I collapse against the door and I bang it relentlessly, struggling to beat back my memories in the process.

It takes a moment before I notice that my fist is hitting flesh.

"Isabela?" Hawke exclaims anxiously. "What in the Maker's name has happened to you?"

It is then that I take stock of my attire. My tunic is torn from something I can't remember. My bandana has twisted to one side and my hair is shamefully messy. Hell, my eyes probably have that creepy, glassy, maybe even teary look to them. In conclusion, I look like shit. This is Captain Isabela, signing off.

"Nothing important," I snap. "Sex time!"

Hawke is rudely unmoved by the prospect. Damn him.

"Isabela, I don't really think—" his protest is cut off by my desperate kiss. Taking the initiative, I push back into the mansion. Without breaking the kiss, I grab his shirt and pull him roughly against me, longing to be consumed by Hawke, and no one but Hawke.

I kick the door shut behind me as I go.

…

"What happened to rutting?"

"That was definitely rutting."

"No, that was coming back for more."

I untangle myself from Hawke's arms. I slip out of his bed and strut over to his letter table to steal an apple from the bowl. Leaning naked against the desk, I take a hearty bite. Hawke folds his hands behind his head and watches me.

"Don't you go thinking this is getting serious," I finally reply. "I told you before that I don't go beyond the physical, for my own reasons."

Hawke raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"Seriously," I scold, pointing my apple accusingly at him. "This is a tap n' go relationship."

He stares at me with an unreadable expression. "And again I ask about love," he retorts gravely.

I cross my arms and take another bite, stalling for time. As I chew, I sift through the notes and papers on his desk. I spy a love letter from that mage girl we rescued from a very pissed of Justice. He was out to save her at first but…it got messy. Well, good for her. Why can't Hawke snatch a willing woman?

"Trust me sweet thing," I say, refusing to meet his eyes. "Bad things happen to good people who get too involved with me."

The bed groans as Hawke rises from the bed. I turn my back to him as he strides over. He rests his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm not in the 'Good People' category," he murmurs gently in my ear. "Besides…" he turns me around and gives me a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. "I'm already _too involved_ with you."

And I almost fall for it. I almost give in. I almost melt into those sexy eyes and that damned innocent smile. I almost repeat the very mistake that destroyed the man I thought I saw in that cursed marketplace.

Shaking my head, I shove him away with both hands. I am in no way stronger than him, but Hawke takes the hint. Without a word I gather my scattered clothes and pull them hastily on. I make sure to hide my shaking hands. I scramble for his bedroom door.

"I'm not a breakable child, Isabela."

I freeze at the doorframe. His words dig into me, even though his tone was kind. "I'm not afraid of the risk," he says.

I turn to look at him. He is still naked, damn him, with his arms crossed defiantly. I return his gaze with equal intensity.

"That's just it Hawke," my voice is quiet. "I _am _afraid."

Before he can respond to that humiliating confession, I make a break for it. I take the stairs two at a time in the dark, silent mansion. I can hear Hawke racing down the steps as I throw the front door wide. Naturally, I storm into a torrent of rain. Sad, how I can't even feel it at this point.

Hawke's shouts of my name echo from the courtyard as I disappear into the night.

My love life is a damn cycle of stupidity. 


	8. A Celebration

The Wicked Dream looks so much like the Siren's call, right down to the shit-stained deck and the filthy sailors.

I cup the nape of my neck with one hand and roll it lazily, the hot sun on the horizon making me sweat. Far below, men are moving cargo like ants scuttling around with larvae on their backs. I suppose I wouldn't see them as such if I weren't lounging atop the roof of a foundry overlooking the docks. I know it isn't particularly healthy, but I find myself visiting this familiar perch whenever I feel wistful or land sick, which happens more often than I like. It's fun to examine the many prize ships before me, devising a clever scheme of piracy that is never carried out. My gaze wanders back to the Wicked Dream, sails rippling in the wind.

_I'd take the guards out first, make it quick and quiet. Then go for the ropes, take control of the helm with a fair bit of stealth, and make sure to escape from those docks. If I could go far enough from the port I could none-too-kindly convince the sailors without difficulty—_

"By the Maker! From that starved look on your face, it's a wonder the city guard doesn't arrest you for pre-meditated theft."

Blinking from my thoughts, I peer down to see Hawke squinting up at me, hands on her hips.

"That's the beauty of it," I retort. "I keep the stick-up-their-ass guards busy while you putter away with an army of virginal templars; keeps the fun in our corner."

Hawke raises an eyebrow, and I respond with a nimble descent to the ground. Side by side, we make our way up towards Lowtown.

"You excited about your big blowout surprise party?" I exclaim cheerfully. Hawke groans and cuts me a sidelong glance.

"Honestly, Isabela, your lack of self control rivals that of Merill."

I snort, insulted. "Who was it who told me she hated surprises?"

"That doesn't mean you have to ruin it for everybody else!" she snaps, kicking at a loose stone at her feet. "I'm a terrible actress."  
>I wrap my arm around her shoulders, but she pointedly steps out of my innocent, friendly embrace. Ignoring her chaste shyness, I offer her a wide grin.<p>

"That's why you have such a kind and capable woman like me in your life, Hawke. I more than make up for your lack of subtlety."

She scoffs. "Isabela, you have the subtlety of a knife to the throat."

"Nonsense!"

"A knife that shines even in the dark."

I shake my head sympathetically. "I know what you're doing Hawke, and I wont let you escape our little gathering, no matter how much you break my heart."

"But—"

"Kitten has been working on decorations and present gathering for _ages._ And Fenris actually agreed to lay back on the wine tonight. Varric bribed the Hanged Man to ourselves, and that was no easy price, mind you. Its safe to assume your man Anders has something up his feathery sleeve and I even managed to sweet-talk little Carver away from the Gallows for you. And don't even get me started on how I lowered myself to hunting down Sir Aveline…"

She sighs quite dramatically. "Alright, alright. You win Isabela. I'll go to your damned party. I'll just have you know that Carver will rue the day he mentioned my date of birth to you vultures."

With a laugh, I slap the mage on the back. "You won't regret this my sweet!"

"I'm regretting it already," Hawke says with a wry smile.

The party was a roaring a success.

Save for the occasional skirmish between Carver and Anders, and then between Aveline and myself, the night went by with little incident. I even gave Fenris some pointers on dueling, though the stubborn mutt lacks the underhandedness involved.

With the finest the Hanged Man has to offer, we all played a few rounds of Diamondback, and our Guard Captain proved how sore a loser she can be. We also had many drunken debates over our pints, where we learned without much surprise that Carver shares Aveline's mulish pride.

Then we moved on to the presents! Kitten carved an elvish charm to ward off some haggish dog. Hawke dutifully draped the charm around her neck, hugging our little blood mage affectionately.

Varric's gift was wrapped in fine silk. Hawke unwrapped it gently to reveal a shining gold bracer with three stamina runes engraved in the shape of a triangle. An emerald with a lustrous colour similar to that of her eyes gleamed between them. It was stunning, the smug bastard. The bracer found its way swiftly to her bicep.

The trinket Carver presented to Hawke seemed to mean something. At first she growled at him, demanding where he found it. After a hasty explanation about Meeran and such, she forgave him with a swift kiss to the cheek. The fine young templar wasn't fond of that.

When the playful wrestling subsided, Anders offered her a glass box, with a rose encased within. Some sort of magic kept its petals from shriveling.

"I want them all to see the beauty our magic can preserve," he explained. Hawke stared into his eyes with gooey, sickening love and clasped his hand.

Fenris, being the ever-practical elf he is, gifted Hawke with a heartbreakingly deadly dagger of fine dwarven make. I glared at him, lusting over the work of art. Yet after careful consideration, I decided that his choice made sense: Hawke depends far too much on her staff for protection.

Aveline surprised us all. She bought Hawke a small shack in the Sunderlands, complaining that she was tired of Hawke returning to Kirkwall with a fever from camping on the ground. We all know her true purpose, though. If the templars decide to arrest Hawke, she will have somewhere to hide.

As for me, I humbly gifted Hawke with some fine undergarments fit to attract any man in the Free Marches, or in her case, Anders. I knew she was lacking from my brief forays through her belongings, and by the look on her face when she beheld my gifts, she has never owned any. With a cute little squeek, she rewrapped them with an indignant, "Isabela!"

I know she likes them.

By this point, the party is dying down. Aveline is of course the first to depart, going on and on about her duties. Fenris is still recovering from a shoulder wound—being too stubborn to accept any magical healing—and bids us farewell. Merill also takes her leave, Varric insisting he walk her home at this late hour. From the look of the two lovebirds in the corner and Carver's scathing glares in their direction, I too order my last drink before the sparks fly.

Lost in drunken thought, it takes a moment to register Hawke's presence at the bar beside me.

Grinning wickedly, I say, "That wasn't a bad _faux supris_ look back there. You've got the heart of a pirate in you, sweet thing."

Hawke chuckles good-naturedly. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Hawke. I mean, your life isn't nearly so spontaneous as mine."

"Wouldn't want to steal your title now, would I?"

"You couldn't even if you wanted to."

We nurse our drinks in companionable silence for a time. I'm happy to hear Anders and Carver conversing in civil tones for once. A birthday miracle. Now, if we can achieve the same with Fenris on Varric's special day…

"You miss it a lot," Hawke states quietly, rolling her empty cup on its edges.

"I miss a lot of things, sweet thing. You'll have to be more specific."

"Being a pirate," she clarifies. "The ships, the crew, the adventure, all of it. I see you staring across the sea from that foundry roof all the time."

I shrug, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Nothing I can do about it without a ship and a loyal crew. Besides. " I knock my shoulder against hers. "You would all be lost without me, even with Aveline scaring all the bad men off." I ignore the disbelieving twinge in my gut at my words.

Hawke smiles her agreement. "Either way…" she looks uncomfortable, and before I can fish out what she wants to say, she shoves a prickly object in my hand. I open my fingers to examine the most adorable model ship I have ever seen. It looks innocent, with its pure white sails and its basic structure, but that adds to its appeal.

"Oh, isn't that the cutest thing!" I coo, unable to contain myself.

Hawke shifts her feet, leaning from side to side. "That's not exactly what I had in mind when I gave it to you."

Before she can stop me, I kiss her on the lips. As I pull back, I hear a strangled sound from both Anders and Carver. They should consider themselves lucky. I know when Anders will be loving Hawke tonight, he won't get that kiss out of his head.

The mage herself looks embarrassed. "I mean, its something to aspire to…to get you your ship…a real one I mean."

I fight back a smile, trying to ignore the fact that she sounds a hell of a lot like Kitten. "Thank you, Hawke," I say, cradling the little ship to my chest. "It's a thoughtful gesture."

I know I will be taking my little ship to meet all of its bigger family members tonight, but I know I won't feel as lonely this time.


End file.
